


Adventures of a Mer-Chaser: The Request

by DirtyScrolls



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bondage, Come Marking, Consensual Sex, Corporal Punishment, Dark Brotherhood (Elder Scrolls) - Freeform, Dildos, Dominance, Dunmer (Elder Scrolls), Exhibitionism, Face Slapping, Flirting, Kissing, M/M, Masochism, Morag Tong, Mostly porn, Porn With Plot, Riding Crop, Sadism, Sexual Roleplay, Spanking, Submission, Thieves Guild, Well some plot, Whipping, background blackmail and rape, viewpoint switching, yes this one is consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:21:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26687350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DirtyScrolls/pseuds/DirtyScrolls
Summary: On a trip to Riften with his favorite mercenary, the Dragonborn is faced with an unwelcome choice.
Relationships: Background, Brynjolf/Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Brynjolf/Ravyn Imyan, Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Ravyn Imyan, Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Teldryn Sero, sorta
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18
Collections: Adventures of a Mer-Chaser: The Dragonborn and His Mercenary, Adventures of a Mer-Chaser: The Dragonborn and Ravyn Imyan





	Adventures of a Mer-Chaser: The Request

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a sub-series centered on Ravyn Imyan, a Thieves’ Guild member trying to hide his previous Morag Tong ties from the Tong’s rivals, the Dark Brotherhood. Unfortunately, he admits this to a sadistic Guildmaster who also happens to be the Brotherhood’s Listener. Blackmail, rape, and some drama (especially after someone else shows an interest in Imyan) ensue. 
> 
> There is also a lot of Dragonborn/Teldryn Sero stuff in this one.
> 
> You might want to read my other Ravyn Imyan stories to get the full context, but I hope I have explained things reasonably well here. And I hope you enjoy. Suggestions for later stories are always welcome.

Once he had extracted the last unbroken ebony arrow from the bandit chief’s belly and looked up, Kordin saw Teldryn Sero walking toward him, helmet in his hands, his normally serious mouth turned up in a triumphant grin. His red eyes sparkled. The chitin that covered his majestic body was streaked with equally red blood.

“How many did you kill?” asked Sero, the beautiful grin widening.

“Five,” Kordin said, wiping gore from the arrow and placing it back in his quiver. 

“Thought so. Well, I beat that. I got eight.”

“Good boy,” the Nord smiled back, standing and stroking his hireling’s handsome jaw, “Earning your pay.”

“More than earning it,” corrected Sero, his smile turning mischievous. “I think I deserve congratulations.”

“Maybe you do.” Kordin caressed the other man’s messy thatch of hair. “But what you’ll earn is punishment, if you keep up the cocky attitude.”

“That a promise?” Sero asked, eyes alight.

As Kordin had expected, the mercenary bragged about his kill count and the details of the battle the entire way back to Breezehome. Every time Kordin turned to tell him off, or describe the whipping he was going to get, he’d smile that impish smile and say something about how perhaps Dunmer were the superior fighters after all, or how he’d managed to do more damage to the gang who’d ambushed them than the Dragonborn himself. When he wasn’t boasting, he complained about the distance back to Whiterun and wished wistfully for a Silt Strider. That Kordin knew he was trying to get to him didn’t change the fact that he was, and in exactly the way he wanted.

“Arrogant bastard,” he said, slapping Sero’s face so hard his head rocked to the side. 

The Dunmer made a deeply pleasured sound in his throat.

“Now you’re going to have to walk through town with my hand-mark on your gorgeous face. You like that idea?”

“Do it again, sera. Please.”

He backhanded him this time. Sero looked downright enticing with half his face blushing from the two smacks. 

“That’ll leave a pretty bruise,” the Nord said, stroking the red skin.

“Hope it does,” replied Sero, voice breathy with arousal.

At Breezehome, Kordin gave Lydia the night off and some extra drinking money, and she left so fast she might as well have de-materialized. 

As soon as the door shut behind the housecarl, Kordin pulled Sero upstairs into the bedroom and began to undo his armor. Sero scrambled to assist him. They set the chitin pieces next to the wall in a pile, and very soon the mer was naked except for the loincloth. His erection stuck out long and thick under the fabric. Kordin impatiently untied it and gripped his mercenary’s prick in one hand, stroking his muscular torso with the other.

“Eager, aren’t you?”

“Gods, yes, sera. Should I bend over the bed?”

“No, you’ll get on the floor this time. Hands and knees.”

“Of course, sera. As you say.”

An intriguing idea had occurred to Kordin. He had Guild business to take care of soon in Riften.

“This’ll be a warm-up. I’m going to give you your punishment in the Cistern, let everyone hear your noises.”

Sero lowered his head. He looked so good Kordin could have jumped him right then. 

“As you say, sera. I’m yours.”

“You are,” Kordin smiled and stroked Sero’s chin. “And you’re still gonna have a hard time sitting in the cart.”

Sero rubbed his face against the Nord’s hand like an affectionate cat, then licked his fingers.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, serjo. You’re very hard on me.”

“It’s what you need, elf. Isn’t it?”

“Yes. It is.”

“Now, didn’t I say ‘hands and knees’?”

In moments, the strong, naked ash-colored body was on all fours, thighs spread and backside turned up and ready for abuse. Kordin smiled to himself and picked up the riding crop off the dresser.

Brynjolf walked through the Fall Forest with his dark, stunning new lover Ravyn Imyan, feeling both excited and apprehensive. There was something about the reserved but sensual new recruit that drew him magnetically, something beyond his obvious physical beauty. He kept wanting to touch him--sometimes placing a hand just above his jutting ass, sometimes stroking his hair or his broad back. Ravyn would smile his small smile and lean into Brynjolf’s touch, or caress his face or hair in turn. It had been his idea to go to the woods, where there was less of a chance of being disturbed.

“You sure?” asked Brynjolf, pushing a strand of Ravyn’s oiled hair off his forehead and smoothing it back. He kissed him on his lush lips, close-mouthed and almost chaste. “I don’t have to tie you up, though I’d love to. I’d love you to do me, too, but-”

“I’m sure. Are you?”

“I’m more than sure, lad. I can’t wait. Just remember to mention Maven if you want me to stop. I’ll do the same.”

They stopped in the shadow of a tree to kiss deeply, hands in each others’ hair. This turned into Brynjolf sucking very lightly at Ravyn’s soft grey throat, as the mer squirmed in pleasure and pressed against him. Both men were now erect, rubbing their crotches together.

“Let’s get somewhere a little more secluded,” said the Nord thief, finally breaking their kiss. His prick was so hard for the Dunmer he could barely walk normally.

Brynjolf knelt next to Ravyn in the small clearing they’d found. The elf’s elegant hands were tied in front of him, and his slim ankles were tethered to each other. The redhead had bound him carefully, pausing every minute or so to stroke his face, and grope his body through the armor, smugly ordering his “captive” to keep still and make it easy on himself. Ravyn was delightfully submissive, murmuring as if he were truly afraid, as if Brynjolf were really some rough bandit. He kept his exotic red eyes cast down. 

Now he was bent over a moss-covered log, his pants around his knees, his loincloth pushed up. His round ass and toned thighs were exposed for Brynjolf’s delectation. He ran his hands over the smooth grey flesh, squeezing and slightly spreading the firm buttocks.

“You’re a lucky find,” he said, in a light and teasing voice. “Not every day I come upon such a lovely creature, all for myself.” 

He gave Ravyn’s buttocks a solid smack, watching the round cheeks flinch. The dark beauty raised his ass up as if he wanted more, and Brynjolf treated him to another firm slap. Ravyn grunted in pleasure. Brynjolf smiled. Apparently this mer liked his sweet ass spanked. He did it some more, giving him about a dozen hard smacks, enjoying how he squirmed and how the grey skin of his ass began to turn pink and warm. The elf tested his bonds, struggling a little, his lean muscles flexing in a way that made the Nord drool. 

“I’m gonna take advantage of this luck, rest assured. You ever had cock before?”

“N-No,” Ravyn said, his voice wavering perfectly as he played the blushing virgin. His neck even turned pink. 

“Well, I’ll be gentle with you. If you’re a good lad.”

As Brynjolf joyfully played with the object of his lust, Kordin was riding to Riften beside his mercenary, occasionally brushing the man’s hand and mockingly asking how his ass and back felt.

Sero was sitting on a pair of welted buttocks and leaning a beaten back against the side of the carriage. He looked uncomfortable in the most delicious way. Kordin wondered if his cock was erect under his armor. 

Once they were the only ones in the carriage, the mer began to lean and nuzzle his head against his Nord master, thanking him for last night’s discipline and promising to please him once they were in bed in the Cistern, saying he didn’t care who heard him. 

Kordin reminded him he had a second whipping coming, and Sero looked up at him, ruby eyes shining. 

On his knees in the grass and rotting leaves, Brynjolf gleefully took Ravyn, clutching his lean hips and fucking up into his hot back passage. He kissed and bit the back of the man’s neck above his leather armor. Ravyn wriggled and told him how much it hurt, even begged him to stop once or twice, but he never said Maven’s name and Brynjolf kept railing him. 

He had prepared him well, first with his tongue, then with oil-coated fingers and firm slaps to his sleek, reddening ass. Ravyn had writhed and pleaded with him not to hurt him, but he’d heard how much the Dunmer wanted to be fucked in his voice. He loved how slick and warm Ravyn’s hole felt as he fed his fingers into that blushing grey pucker, how Ravyn’s toned back and ass had winced as he opened him. 

Brynjolf felt desperately attracted to the man beneath him, wanting to be as close to him and as deep in him as possible. He thrust balls-deep and pressed his chest against the Dunmer’s back, kissing his neck again, chewing lightly and sensually on his flared sharp ears.

“You’re just here for my pleasure, lad,” he whispered. “My pretty Elven toy to use.”

He quickened his thrusts, now looking down at Ravyn’s flexing back muscles under the even grey skin. Ravyn was groaning and sticking his ass up to meet Brynjolf.

“Oh, you like it, do you, dirty boy? Don’t try to say you don’t.”

The elf squirmed and shook his head.

“Please—it hurts. You’re so—big.”

His voice almost sounding truly distressed. 

Brynjolf responded by speeding up even more, frenzied with lust for his new lover. When he came, it was so good and hard it almost hurt, it was almost sharp. He took a minute to catch his breath, then turned the Dunmer over, grabbing his dripping grey cock.

“Very nice, lad, very nice,” he said softly, using Ravyn’s own pre-come to ease the way as he stroked him slowly. 

Ravyn looked up at him with pleading bright red eyes. 

“Please let me come, sera.”

“Since you’ve been so good for me.”

When Ravyn came, it covered Brynjolf’s hand and wrist, abundant and hot. He licked it off himself and kissed Ravyn gently and deeply before untying him.

They spent several minutes in each others’ arms in the grass, leaves, and wildflowers next to the mossy log, the sun warming their half-clothed bodies.

“Thank you,” breathed Brynjolf, as he kissed the pink marks on the man’s wrists and ankles, “You were fucking wonderful.” His lips met Ravyn’s thick grey mouth. “And next it’s your turn.”

“It is,” Ravyn said, smirking, blood-red eyes shining.

“Ah, just let me rest a minute, lad, and I’ll be yours.”

Brynjolf let the slim elf handle his half-stripped body, tie his hands over his head to a small tree, obeying when Ravyn ordered him to lift his legs, spreading him in an erotically shameful manner. He thrilled to Ravyn’s touch on his helpless, sensitive body, his hard prick, his asshole, which Ravyn gently moistened with oil and probed with his slender, deft fingers. 

“Be soft, please,” the Nord said, in a small voice.

“Do as you’re told and I will be,” laughed Ravyn, his eyes blazing wickedly. 

When Ravyn breached him, Brynjolf yelled in high pleasure at the feeling of the long slim prick stimulating him. Ravyn gave him a few hard smacks on his right thigh and right buttock, making his cock run with pre-ejaculate. All he wanted was to please Ravyn. 

“Use me,” he begged, letting the slut in him take over. “Gods, just use me.”

Ravyn kissed him with a warm mouth and thrust hard, filling him deeply. Brynjolf’s hole felt hot and stretched, almost burning—but it was a good burn. Ravyn pounded into him, provoking high cries and gasps from the bound man as he hit his sweet spot again and again. He twined Brynjolf’s hair in his fingers and used the other hand to cup his balls and knead them tenderly, then stroke up the length of his hard shaft.

“Look at that cock,” the Dunmer said, his red eyes glinting. “Who’s the dirty boy now?”

Brynjolf and Ravyn again relaxed in the tall grass as the sun set, quietly holding each other. Both men’s assholes were tender, both their pricks were sensitive from friction, both mouths raw from kissing. They massaged each other with lazy hands, occasionally meeting gently at the lips. 

They rested, half-nude, arms and legs tangled together, clasped in mutual possession. 

That night they built a fire, and lounged with some wine, exchanging wordless caresses. Toward midnight, they talked a little about their backgrounds and how they’d come to join the Guild. 

His voice careful, Ravyn revealed that he had once been some kind of legal assassin in Morrowind (apparently, they had had that kind of thing there), involved in a war with the Dark Brotherhood. He admitted that they were still a danger to him. Brynjolf assured him that he’d keep quiet about what he now knew. 

Of course, Ravyn could handle himself, tough and cunning as he was, but Brynjolf promised himself he’d do whatever he could to keep the elf safe. He wanted this saturnine mer, to fuck and be fucked by. He wondered if the Guildmaster would mind if they were together regularly. Kordin could have whomever he wanted. Why shouldn’t he allow Brynjolf this one, of all the men in the world? 

The redhead clutched the Dunmer to him, licking and tenderly nibbling at his alluring ears.

He murmured, “I wanna do this all the time. Sleep with you every night, if I could. What do you think of that, lad?”

“I--” Ravyn averted his eyes, his face reddening. “I would—but, I promised the Guildmaster—I promised him I’d ask.”

“He—you and he have sort of a regular thing, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“He fucks that mercenary. The one from Solstheim. And he’s always away on freelance business, clearing out bandits for the Jarls, or whatever he does. He can spare you when he’s not around.” 

Brynjolf had trouble keeping the frustration out of his voice. Ravyn still didn’t look at him.

“I’ll talk to him,” the elf said, “after I get back from my Markarth job.”

“I can speak with him. He’s coming in from Whiterun.”

“If you want,” said Ravyn, seeming tired. “Just don’t say anything about—this. Today.”

Brynjolf frowned, but they didn’t speak any more about it.

As Brynjolf and Ravyn Imyan broke camp and exchanged a lingering goodbye, Kordin had already arrived in Riften with a sore but stoical Teldryn Sero. They were in the market stocking up on supplies, and didn’t see Brynjolf re-enter the city, a little dirty, with grass in his hair.

Down in the Guild’s hideout, Kordin sent Sero to his sleeping area with some mead while he met with Delvin and Vex to discuss recent jobs and collect his payments. He was impatient throughout the long meeting, wanting to get back to his hireling.

On his way out into the Cistern, however, Brynjolf caught his attention, waving him over to a table away from the few others who occupied the Flagon. Kordin went, hoping this would be quick. Sero would be nice and loosened from the mead now, needy and ready.

“Like a drink, lad?”

“Sure,” said the Guildmaster. “But I don’t have long. I brought Sero with me, and—well, you know.”

He smiled suggestively, sipping the mead his colleague offered.

“I do know,” Brynjolf said, returning the smile, “You shouldn’t keep him waiting. Like I always say, you’re lucky. To have such a handsome mer, and to have him around so often.” 

“Oh, I am.” Kordin took a deep drink. “What did you need?”

“Well, lad.” Brynjolf put a hand lightly over Kordin’s. “First, I want to say I wish I could see you more often. Apart from business.”

“That would be… very good for me,” said Kordin, meaning it. He hadn’t had a human man in awhile. “But I have outside matters to attend to.”

“Yes, you have a very active surface life, ‘Thane Kordin’.”

Brynjolf laughed softly and stroked the Guildmaster’s wrist. Kordin laughed in turn and placed his hand over Brynjolf’s. 

“You have no idea.” 

“I’d like it if you and Ravyn and I could get closer. That night we were all together was great, but maybe you’d like to—participate more, next time.”

“That could be arranged,” Kordin said, warming to the idea, now far less annoyed with the interruption to his evening. “Maybe we take him from both ends. The gods gave that pretty Dunmer two pretty holes for a reason.”

“Sounds excellent.” Brynjolf leaned forward, eyes glittering. “And while we’re waiting for you, I’m wondering if you would mind if Ravyn and I spent some time together. He’s—I can’t get him out of my head, lad.”

“He has that effect,” Kordin said, stiffening a bit.

“I understand he’s—he’s probably special to you.”

“You might say that.”

“But you have Teldryn Sero. And surely you could charm anyone you wanted into your bed.” Brynjolf stroked Kordin’s face, in a way that reminded the Guildmaster of how he himself so often stroked his victims. “I’d like to be able to see him. But I have no intention of taking him away from you. That’s why I thought it’d be best to ask.”

Kordin had not anticipated this particular scenario. He couldn’t see a way of saying no, since it was Brynjolf asking. Regardless of how he himself wanted to handle Imyan, he was first and foremost the Guildmaster. Conflict between the Guild’s two top men, himself and Brynjolf, would be detrimental to the entire operation. He was stuck, and he didn’t like it.

“Certainly,” he said smoothly, with a warm smile, “Someone needs to give it to the elf when I’m not here.”

Kordin leaned against the wall of the Cistern, considering his situation. While the thought of sharing the ex-Morag Tong assassin between them in his own bed aroused him, he burned with jealousy at the idea that Brynjolf would be using Imyan whenever he liked. For a moment, he wondered if he should take Imyan to the Sanctuary at last. The Brotherhood could only be strengthened by the capture of an old enemy—apart from the pleasures he would provide, alive or dead. 

He breathed to calm himself. 

No--at least, not yet. Not as long as he was still able to scare the elf into obeying him.

He smiled as his thoughts turned to Sero waiting for him, and he crossed the Cistern to his screened bed. At least he could take his frustrations out on his hireling.

On the way, he received knowing grins from Thrynn and Vipir, who were drinking at the edge of the water. Niruin glanced away from the targets and gave him a brief nod. The archer’s air of cockiness reminded him of Sero’s, and he wondered if he’d ever have reason to redden that golden-brown Bosmer flesh.

He found Sero already naked, his chitin stacked neatly by the bed, his glorious body stretched out prone. The welts, stripes, and bruises from the first punishment were prominent in the lantern light, setting off his light grey skin. Kordin sat on the bed beside him and began to massage the beaten areas.

“Are you ready for your second round, gorgeous?” he asked, pinching a bruise on the plumpest part of Sero’s marked-up right buttock.

The well-built Dunmer flinched and let out a small moan.

“Punish me as you see fit, sera,” he said.

“Kneel on the bed. Good boy. Now bend forward—head down—that’s it.”

Kordin got up and went to his bag, bringing out an item he’d had crafted by a sculptor in Solitude, a glass replica of a large, hard prick. He showed it to Sero, whose red eyes went wide in pleased surprise.

“Put it inside me, sera,” he begged hoarsely. “Fuck me good with it.”

“Spread those cheeks. Show me where you want it.”

Sero reached back and pulled his own buttocks open, revealing a grey crack darker than the rest of his skin, with a bit of pink around the hole and a few tight curly black hairs around it. 

“Beautiful.”

Kordin slathered the glass dildo with oil, then put some on his fingers to scissor open Sero’s eager hole. The mer pushed back onto his hand, moaning.

“Please. Just shove it in me.”

“Quiet, Sero, you’ll get your fine ass filled soon enough.”

Sero squirmed around Kordin’s hand, his moan almost a whine.

“Whore,” the Nord said, sliding one finger out, then the other.

He replaced them with the head of the smooth glass prick. Sero’s neck and the visible side of his face turned red, but he shoved himself against it.

“Gods, you handsome fucking slut,” Kordin growled, working the toy in.

Sero turned his head to watch Kordin feed the glass prick into his oiled ass. His face was even redder now.

“Very stiff, isn’t it?” the Nord said, sneering.

“Yes,” breathed Sero.

“It’s big too, yeah? Just the way you like it?”

“Yes, sera. Thank you.”

Now only the base of the dildo showed, sticking an inch out from Sero’s dark pinkish ring. Kordin reached around and took hold of Sero’s erect cock.

“I think it’s as big as yours,” he said, pushing his tongue into Sero’s ear, then skating it back and forth over the tip. 

Sero thrust his prick into the Nord’s hand. Kordin stroked it once and let it go. The elf moaned in disappointment.

“This is not about your pleasure. Now keep that dildo in your tight hole,” Kordin said, patting his mercenary’s ass. “Since you’re being such a lovely slut, I’ll give you a choice. Do you think you need the belt or the crop?” 

“I need the crop,” said Sero, barely able to contain his eagerness. “Please, give me the crop.”

Soon Kordin was laying new, pink welts over the pale purplish ones from yesterday, loving all the colors he could paint against the smooth grey. Sero squirmed erotically, bending his back low, raising his thick buttocks and spreading his muscular thighs as widely as he could, showing his dark cleft, the base of the dildo poking out from his stretched pucker. The sight made Kordin salivate.

“Don’t be afraid to make noise, beautiful. You know I love to hear you. I want them to hear you too, I want them to know what a delicious pain slut I have here.”

The Dunmer moaned as Kordin increased the pace of the beating, striking him up and down his parted thighs, overlaying the previous marks to make his hireling flinch. His ass-cheeks clenched around the glass dildo, which caused glistening oil to seep out onto his inner thigh. The Nord licked his lips and struck the base of the replica with the crop.

“Ah!” cried Sero, as the dildo slid further into him.

Kordin landed sharp swats on each cheek, alternating between the two parted round buttocks. The sound of the stiff leather meeting the resilient flesh of Sero’s backside was almost certainly audible to the others in the Cistern, as well as his moans and grunts, and his cries of “Please, more, sera!” and, “Oh, yes, I need it, just like that!”. 

“You don’t sound very sorry for your arrogant behavior, elf,” taunted Kordin, aiming a stroke at Sero’s sack, dangling between his thighs. The mer yelped, then shivered in pleasure. Kordin himself was rock hard. “Think you need it harder.”

“Yes, please, serjo,” gasped the Dunmer, “Make me sorry.”

The Nord began to beat him more harshly, putting his arm into it. The smacks resounded; there was no way the men outside could mistake what was happening. The elf yelled freely in reaction to the hardest blows. The new marks were a bright purple-crimson, the color exquisite on his already beautiful grey, bruised thighs and rump. He obediently kept the glass cock nestled between his fine thick buttocks, as his ass wriggled and clenched with the sting of the strokes. Every so often, Kordin used the end of the crop to tap the dildo’s base, sending thrills through his mercenary’s body.

After a few minutes of rhythmic, flesh-reddening cracks of the crop, Kordin could hear soft sounds that indicated Sero was tearing up, though it was unclear whether this reaction came from pain or pleasure. On occasion, he’d seen the elf’s handsome face streaked with thick tears even as he came.

“Wonder what they’re thinking,” mused Kordin, swinging the crop vigorously, “Wonder if your pretty noises turn them on. Maybe next time I should let them watch you get it.”

Sero moaned at this, as though he relished the idea. His breathing was fast and labored, his whole body wincing under the relentless crop. Then he let out a high rough cry that Kordin recognized and loved hearing. The sweet grey-skin whore was coming. He whipped him hard and fast through his loud, unmistakable orgasm.

At last, he set the crop down on the bed beside Sero’s drained body and sat on the edge. He pulled the glass dildo out with a wet sound and a cry from Sero.

“Get up, elf. Now, on the floor, on your knees.”

Sero rose slowly and knelt in from of the Nord, his gorgeous tear-damp face grimacing as his beaten ass met the backs of his calves.

Kordin pulled his prick from his armor. Sero’s mouth opened, but his patron stroked a hand over his lush lips.

“Not this time, Sero. I’m just going to come on you, on your face.”

Sero closed his mouth and bowed his head.

“As you say.”

After only a few moments of stroking himself and looking down into the soft sparkling red eyes, the angular bruised face, Kordin painted his hireling’s mouth, cheeks, chin, and even some of his hair with white seed.

Sero licked some of it from around his mouth.

“Thank you, sera. I needed that. So badly.”

“So did I,” Kordin said, pulling the mercenary up beside him on the bed. 

Thoughts of the situation with Imyan crept back into his head as he stroked and pinched Sero’s welted flesh, but he pushed them away in favor of inflicting these small torments on the Dunmer. He’d think more on it later. For now, he concentrated on admiring what he’d done to the sculpted body in his arms, reigniting the sting of the welts with his wandering hands, and enjoying the scent and sight of his contented, freshly-punished mercenary.


End file.
